


Testing the Strong Ones

by mrsvc



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc/pseuds/mrsvc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill: Monroe finds it a little bit odd, but nothing to outright worry about when he doesn't hear from Nick for a few days. (Nick gets hurt on the job and Monroe has to find out from the news.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Testing the Strong Ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deathgetsusall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathgetsusall/gifts).



> So, Dea left me alone for five minutes and, like a dog left alone all day, I panicked. She could have returned to ripped up pillows, but I figure she prefers that she returned to this. I take no responsibility for my actions. 
> 
> [Link to Kink Meme Thread](http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/3689.html?thread=1640809#cmt1640809)

"You," Monroe starts with, when he slides into Nick's hospital room, "are an idiot."

Nick, at least, had the wherewithal to look ashamed of himself, and the pert little nurse in the corner stands up a little straighter.

"And you are...?" she askes, obviously about to kick him out, until Nick lays a hand on her arm. 

"My friend." 

"Some friend!" Monroe huffs. "I had to hear about this on the news, Nick. I mean, I thought it was a little strange, I got a whole week out of my life where you didn't almost die, but hey, guess what? YOU ALMOST DIED."

The nurse smirks goodnaturedly. "I think I'll leave you guys alone."

"No, please don't," Nick pleads, but she's immune to his puppy eyes. Monroe respects her, because that's skill. She pats him gently on the arm as she leaves, like she understands, and he feels like she does. Nick's probably been her patient for the past three days. Monroe just glares at him, trying his best to look helpless and pained in bed with a bullethole in his chest. Monroe's not falling for those crocodile tears - metaphorically, since Nick's not actually crying - and crosses his arms. 

"Well?"

"In my defense, my phone is at the bottom of a river." 

Monroe throws his hands in the air and sits down sullenly on the side of Nick's bed. "Oh, you mean the one they _fished you out of_ after you got shot?"

"It was me or her, Monroe," Nick says, wrapping his cold fingers around Monroe's wrist, thumb slipped under the band of his wristwatch and pressed against his pulse. 

"It doesn't always have to be you, though," he says, voice tight. What he really wanted to say was, _why does it always have to be you?_ but he kept that held that back, tucked deep in his chest.

"Hey, I'm a cop," Nick whispers, fingers dancing across Monroe's palm to lace between his own. Monroe stares down at the gesture and can't breathe suddenly. "It's sort of what we do."

"Well, I'm not a fan," Monroe says gruffly. He wants to shake Nick for being so damn heroic, always rushing into the face of danger, and he wants to cuff him to the radiator in his house to keep him safe, and he wants to kiss him and hold him and never let him go ever again, and he just wants to walk away and never let himself care this much about someone so stupid. 

"Have I ever come up with a plan you liked?" Nick tries to sit up some more, but winces at the pull on his muscles and gives up. Monroe helps him settle more comfortably, and feels guilty for his lack of sympathy when he came in. 

"How bad are you hurting, dude?" he asks quietly after Nick's breathing evened out again. 

"Not too bad. They keep me nicely medicated, whether I like it or not."

Monroe snorts, because Nick would be a martyr like that. He smoothes back Nick's fringe, slightly damp from the cold sweat that had beaded on his forehead, and traced the callous on his thumb over Nick's cheek. "At first," he falters a little, not ready to tell this story, but going to do it anyway because Nick needs to know. "At first, they just talked about catching a man who had shot a cop. It was all the victory of catching another bad guy, and they wouldn't say the officer's name. I didn't think it was you, not at first, but when you didn't call? There was- I knew there was something wrong."

"You just missed me," Nick jokes, pushing into Monroe's hand and closing his eyes. 

Monroe strokes his hair back again, studies the way Nick smelled of pain and medication and two different type of perfume from the nurses. He could still smell the coppery tang of blood, old and dried, sticking to the bandage. The riverwater had washed most of it away, but there was a slightly acidic burn of gunpowder underneath it all, too, and Monroe had to focus on Nick, just Nick, to get the lump to go down in his throat. "You wish," he croaks. 

"How'd you find me?"

"Hank. You're gonna have some 'splaining to do, Lucy."

"I think I got more to explain than just you," Nick admits, opening his eyes. "There might have been a few choice German words thrown around out there on the pier that he's not going to just forget about."

"Nick," Monroe sighs, and it's a broken sound - more like a cry than a word at all, and Nick nods.

"I know," he says, wrapping his hand in Monroe's shirt and drawing them close. Their foreheads bump together and Monroe breathes deeply for the first time since he'd seen him. "Never again."

"Never again," Monroe agrees, ignoring the beeping IV pump behind them, or the way Nick's lips are cold where they are just barely brushing his, and holds on.


End file.
